


The Pain of Defeat

by purple_bookcover



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Short Metodey, Blood, Blood during sex, Consensual Kink, Dom - Freeform, Don't @ Me, F/M, Pain, i own a tag now i suppose, metodey fandom is a thing now, please don't read this if you're squeamish about blood or pain, this is the most cursed thing ive ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:53:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21920632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_bookcover/pseuds/purple_bookcover
Summary: They should have won. They should have claimed the crest stones. But Metodey and the rest of Edelgard's forces are defeated in the Holy Tomb, leaving Metodey in particular terribly injured. It falls to General Ladislava to make sure Edelgard's favorite weasel is still alive and scheming.
Relationships: Ladislava/Metodey
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	The Pain of Defeat

**Author's Note:**

> CW/TW: THIS FIC INCLUDES PAIN PLAY, GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD AND BLOOD DURING SEX. The characters consent to what is happening and have a moment afterward, but the descriptions of pain and blood are fairly graphic. If that's not your thing, now is the time to turn around. 
> 
> Metodey and Ladislava are both presumed to be in their 20s, though their ages are not listed in any official documentation I could find.

The heady perfume of victory lay thick over the battlefield: The tangy iron of blood, the frothy spit of screaming soldiers, the pungent cloud of adrenaline and sweat that steamed in the air. 

But it was not his victory. 

Metodey had charged into the Holy Tomb with Emperor Edelgard's troops, surprising the Blue Lions and snatching several crest stones before the ridiculous nobles could do a damn thing about it. Somehow, it had all gone wrong after that, as Dimitri's forces rallied, managing to snatch back most of the stones and drive Edelgard's soldiers away.

Metodey snarled in frustration, swinging his curved blade at the horse and rider charging toward him. Sylvain yanked on the beast's reins and the horse danced backward. The next instant the Gautier boy smirked, leveling his spear at Metodey. 

And it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair, _it wasn't fair._ With spear in hand, mounted atop a black destrier outfitted for battle, Sylvain was a looming mountain, so tall he seemed to fill the hall with his broad shoulders and stupid grin. His crest-enhanced lance glowed golden, turning his hair into writhing flames. 

Metodey spit on the floor, licking the bitterness off his lips. “So tall,” he rasped as he crouched. “So tall. So gods damned tall. Just need to flaunt it, don't you, Gautier? So tall you have to wave it around. 'Look at me. I'm so _fucking_ tall.'” 

Tall people deserved to get cut down, Metodey thought, hacked to size starting at the knees. They deserved to crawl, to scrabble over the dirt, dragging the stumps of their long, horrible legs behind them. 

Sylvain charged; Metodey raised his dripping venin blade. He met Sylvain's lance, smacking it aside, but the force of both lance and horse in motion knocked Metodey to the floor. The venin blade slid across the stone of the Holy Tomb. Metodey scrambled to his feet as Sylvain rounded for another charge.

Metodey decided not to wait. He rushed at the horse, intending to use teeth and nails to tear man and beast alike to shreds. 

Something struck him before he could reach Sylvain. The bolt shocked the breath from his lungs, sending him careening across the floor. He wheezed around the arrow in his side, arms quivering as he forced himself back to his feet. He searched, finding Ashe already nocking a second arrow. Not tall, but he would suffer, too. They would all suffer. They would grovel at Edelgard's feet and beg him for d--

The second arrow struck his shoulder and Metodey flew back, shrieking as agony rippled through his body. 

Still, he fought to right himself, clambering and clawing toward his foes. Spittle frothed out of his mouth. Blood left a trail as he groped for purchase with fingers rapidly going numb. Darkness edged his vision, an ooze of black closing in. 

But his enemies were still within reach, so tall and righteous and _tall_. Metodey found his feet and, with a last desperate surge, lunged forward.

The darkness took him after a single step.

#

“We managed to recover three of the stones,” Ladislava said, reading from her report. “Unfortunately, Dimitri protected the others. Our loses were minimal, with all but three soldiers successfully retreating.” _Successfully retreating._ She winced. Just a kinder way to say “failing.”

Ladislava pushed on. “Several soldiers sustained non-life threatening injuries. One sustained serious injuries and is currently recovering under Linhardt's watch.” 

“Metodey.”

Edelgard spoke the name softly. Even so, Ladislava felt her eyes narrow. She smoothed the irritation from her face before looking up at her emperor, who lounged atop her throne with her cheek resting against her fist. 

“How is Metodey recovering?” Edelgard said.

“Linhardt believes he will survive his injuries,” Ladislava said.

“Is he in good spirits?” Edelgard said.

Ladislava opened her mouth to reply, but found no words worth voicing. Was that slimy weasel ever in “good spirits?” At the best of times, he was a scheming, venomous snake in their midst; at the worst, a poisoned knife in the dark. Ladislava would sooner have left him to die in the Holy Tomb, but Edelgard had insisted they keep him alive. 

“General Ladislava,” Edlegard prompted.

“I do not know, Emperor,” Ladislava said. “He is alive. That is all I can confidently report.” 

“Hm,” Edelgard said. “Go see to him.”

Ladislava blinked. “Emperor, I--”

“That is an order, Ladislava.” Edelgard did not raise her voice, but Ladislava stifled her protests all the same.

“Yes, Emperor Edelgard.” Ladislava bowed from the waist, hiding her scowl as she turned and marched from the throne room. 

The palace felt horribly empty as she wound her way through marbled halls and down stone stairwells. She was alone in this horrible task, sinking deeper into the bowels of the imperial stronghold to see to its most vile filth. 

The door to the infirmary stood ajar when Ladislava found it. She paused, allowing herself a sigh before stepping inside. 

Tinctures and bandages filled the shelf pushed up against the wall. A glass case stood in one corner, the concoctions within bright and glaring. Mercifully, the wretch on the bed in the center of the room appeared to be sleeping, his breaths shallow but steady. 

Ladislava walked as quietly as she could, creeping to the side of the bed where Metodey lay. He was naked save for the bandages wrapped around his side and head. A crimson crust of old blood splotched the dressings. His thin chest strained around each wheezing breath. Metodey's eyes were squeezed shut, pushing against the pain even as he slept. 

“Filthy wretch,” she hissed. “You should have died.” 

A cough of a laugh chased Metodey's next wheeze and Ladislava startled. 

“You're awake?” she said.

“Heh,” he said. 

Well, that made her report simple enough. She could go back to Edelgard and tell her--

Ladislava froze when she turned to leave, her eyes going wide. Despite the bandages, despite the horrendous wounds threatening to kill him, despite the pallor of his bloodless lips, Metodey was... He was... 

He laughed, groaning even as he chuckled. “Like it?” he rasped.

He wiggled his hips and his erect cock bounced at her. 

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?” she said, whirling toward him. “Do you find death amusing?”

“Well, yes,” he said. The jest must have cost him terribly, because sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip. His face was pale as snow, his lips nearly blue, yet his eyes glinted with mirth, like knives catching the sunlight. 

“Disgusting,” she said. 

“Yeah?” he gasped. “Yeah. Tell me more.”

Ladislava curled her lip. “You're a filthy, wicked creature and we should have let you die in that tomb. It'd be better than you deserve, to be honest, but at least we'd be rid of you.” 

He bit his lip and moaned, arching his hips up. “Yes, Ladislava, more.” 

She growled in frustration. Surely he couldn't _actually_ be getting off to this. Yet a dot of pre-cum quivered at the tip of his trembling cock. 

“You're revolting,” she said, but he just moaned again, squirming in ecstasy. 

Perhaps it was desperation that planted the idea in her mind. Perhaps it was simple cruelty, the desire to hurt the wretched insect before her, to feel in control of his fate rather than manipulated to play into his needs.

Whatever it was, Ladislava stepped nearer, choking down her revulsion. He paused in his theatrics, his eyes watching her, his breaths getting shallow and quick. She held her hand over his torso and he froze. 

“You want more?” she said, a low rasp, a threat and a promise all in one. 

His breaths got so rapid she feared--hoped?--he might suffocate, but finally he managed a meager, “Yes.” 

She let her fingertips lower, the barest breeze against his bandages, but he gasped and shuddered all the same, a wild chuckle chasing each yelp of pain. She drew lazily back and forth across his torso, mapping the places that hurt the worst, finding the creases where the greatest potential for pain lurked. 

“Ah!” he gasped. “Oh oh, ah! Oh gods, that hurts, that hurts.” 

“You like it.”

It wasn't a question, but he nodded. “Please,” he whined, a pathetic, high wheeze between laughter. 

She withdrew her hand and he whimpered like a dog denied a bone. 

Ladislava acted with the swift decisiveness trained into her as a soldier. She jabbed a finger at a point in Metodey's side that made him rear up and shriek, the last dregs of color draining from his clammy face. 

She withdrew and he collapsed to the bed, panting and trembling. For a moment, she worried it had been too much, especially when a fresh blush of crimson stained his bandages where she'd pressed. But then his rasping turned to raucous laughter, shrieks of joy that ricocheted around the stone chamber. 

“Oh, fuck me,” Metodey wheezed. “More, more, more!” 

She was only too eager to indulge him, pressing here, poking there. Eventually, she grabbed him by the torso, forcing him to endure the pain while she held him down. He went wild with agony, shouting, his eyes rolling back as spittle foamed around his mouth. His legs kicked; his hands scrabbled for the bed sheets. His cock shivered in desperation, arcing toward his stomach and weeping with pleasure. 

Ladislava withdrew, her own breaths tattered now. His eyes fluttered and for a moment she feared he'd pass out from the pain. Blood squeezed past his bandages, staining the sheets of the sick bed. 

She knew he'd recovered when he reached for his cock. Ladislava slapped his hand away. His eyes were glazed and glassy, but he watched her like a mouse watching a hawk, awaiting her next command. 

“You aren't to touch yourself,” she said, leaning close so her words beat like hammer blows against his face. “You aren't to _think_ about touching yourself. You aren't to move unless I tell you you can. Do you understand?” 

He nodded. Sweat matted down his lank hair. His cock was still aching, pushing against his belly, begging for touch. Blood oozed into the cum, turning it a blushing pink. It was utterly revolting, yet she stayed, her finger trailing up his leg now, veering away when she got too near his crotch. He whined like a keening pet and she let her finger circle near again, drawing out more desperate whimpers. 

“Are you ready?” she said.

He nodded, chewing at his bottom lip, following every motion of her hands in mingled fear and anticipation. 

She let her hand hover near his cock. When Ladislava wiggled her fingers, she saw his eyes latch on, tracing every movement.

That's when she prodded again, her free hand jabbing against his side. 

Metodey howled, arching at the ceiling. She caught his cock in her hand and gave it a single, powerful pump. 

“Cum,” she commanded, and he did, exploding over her hand, splattering his stomach and chest.

She let go, jerking away from the filthy creature as he moaned in the afterglow of his release. Ladislava stepped away, finding a cloth to clean her hand. She thought of leaving then, of letting him lie there in his own filth and be found that way by Linhardt. But eventually she relented, returning to his bedside to wipe his torso and chest and cock. He sucked in a breath as she worked.

“Oh, stop it,” Ladislava said gently. “You've survived worse.”

“And better,” he said.

His face was pale, clammy with sweat, yet he smiled. Ladislava shook her head, allowing a grin to pull up one side of her mouth. 

“Are you alright?” she said. 

“Oh yes,” he said. “Yes, very much so.” 

“You still disgust me,” she said, tossing the rag aside and stepping away. 

He grinned. “I should certainly hope so.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've fallen in love with this gross weasel and I don't care who knows it.
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


End file.
